#it gives you the freedom for it to be whatever you want with none of the pressure

[pomegranatelifethis]

STAR IN THE SHADOWS

The massive walls of Wayne Manor were built to protect you, yet they could do nothing to ease the loneliness inside. This place felt less like a home and more like an endless void. Full, yet silent. Warm, yet unreachable. You saw your family every day, but it was as if none of them truly saw you.

As a child, you would often draw pictures for your father—Bruce Wayne—eager to show them to him. But he was always busy. He would take the paper, give it a quick glance, and mutter, "Looks nice," before returning to his work. And you… you would walk back to your room, crumpled drawing in hand, staring at the ceiling, asking yourself the same question:

“Does he really love me?”

As time passed, you stopped looking for an answer.

Jason... He was different.

Jason always noticed you. As a child, you followed him everywhere. Sometimes he was your big brother, sometimes your partner in crime, sometimes your hero. No matter how bad you felt, he would sit beside you, his laughter chasing away your dark thoughts.

But one day, he never came back.

When the news of Jason’s death arrived, your father said nothing. Dick stared into the distance. Tim averted his gaze. Damian didn’t care. But you… you shattered.

A world without Jason… was too quiet.

Seeing your father show no grief ignited something inside you. At night, you sneaked down to the Batcave, watching Bruce stare at the screens with cold, emotionless eyes. As if Jason had never existed. As if his memory wasn’t even worth mentioning. That night, whatever love you had left for your father turned into something else—something bitter.

Tim… Tim was the most logical. Always reading, always analyzing. But even when Jason died, he never showed his emotions. Maybe he buried them deep down, knowing how much it would hurt. He spent time with you, but he always kept his distance. The Tim who once held you in his arms and read you stories as a child had become someone who preferred to watch from afar.

And Dick…

Dick loved you, you knew that. But his love felt like freedom. Whenever he was near, whenever he smiled at you, it warmed your heart like the sun. But you could never hold on to him. He always had a mission, something more important to do. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he would say, "We’ll talk later, okay?" before leaving.

And Damian…

He treated you like a rival, always challenging you. Even as a child, he competed with you for Bruce’s attention. "You’re weak," he would say at every chance. "Useless. You don’t belong in this family." His only goal was to prove himself to Bruce, and the easiest way to do that was by pushing you down.

Years passed. You grew up. But Bruce never changed. Dick drifted away. Tim closed himself off. Damian kept looking at you with the same cold, condescending eyes.

One night, you walked into the Batcave and found them all gathered around the screen, focused on Gotham’s latest crime wave. They were preparing for their mission, too caught up in their work. You stood in the doorway, wanting to speak.

But no one turned to look at you.

You took a step forward, but no one noticed.

And that was when you realized.

You weren’t a hero to them. You weren’t a warrior.

To them, you were just a shadow.

And in the end, shadows always fade away.

[positivelyadhd]

i have been reading through the diary I kept from ages 14-17 and realising how helpful it can be to keep a record of how you're feeling at different moments.

not only is it helpful to write down and process how your feeling and give yourself time to truly think about it, it's nice to have something to look back on. to not just remember how you felt about a certain situation but to actually have yourself from that time tell you.

and also, from an adhd perspective, it's really lovely to have reminders of things I'd almost entirely forgotten. it's easy to think that your life right now isn't interesting, but in 5 years time? to know what songs you were listening to or book you were reading or even that Thing that you were so worried about but now you can't even remember the details. it's nice to have a physical reminder that time passes and things really can get better.

[tackrusso]

whoa okay. i just had the thought that the way the program is set up there is easily the possibility that they didn't just do it once. it's not LIKELY (and i know br didn't intend to leave that loophole open) but for all we know they ran the entire phase 2 already and juilliard didn't like how it ended, so he reset the whole thing and made them do it all over again the good place style. this could have happened several times for all anyone knows. there could be a hundred universes where min died halfway through the program and juilliard just kept correcting it over and over until there was finally a universe in which she lived

[medicinemane]

You know I gotta be blunt, it's not immigrants or trans people or any of those groups that are the problem with this country

To me there's really one major problem group... people who thumpa thumpa with their fucking car stereo and give me a headache by vibrating me inside my own private fucking home, infringing on my right to some fucking peace and quiet

Do something about them, they tangibly make my life worse, and rankly they're acting like a selfish asshole when they do that (whoever they are outside the car, that's what they're acting like in it)

Not even joking, immigrants ain't done shit to me and probably have made my life better in a whole lot of ways that I don't directly get to see

Trans people don't do me no fucking harm, had one live with me for free here for over a year and worst she did was annoy me by being a redditor

Meanwhile I'm trying to sleep after dealing with insomnia all night, but fucking subwoofer hanging out... fuck, I don't know, at the intersection on a dirt road? I don't know what they seem to just fucking sit there, are they chilling in front of the post office? I don't get it

Anyway, point is that's the person who is concretely causing me harm right now

How bout we crack down on the real menaces to society first before we even start dreaming about going after the people just fuckin existing?

[sinvulkt]

...

*heavy sigh*

*pull back the fic I made exactly for that kind of fallacious baseless fear.*

Guys. I tested it. Litterally. Everyways possible. If your fic get invited in a collection, it *cannot* be put into anonymous, except if the collection was already in unreveal mod/anonymous.

Even if the collection your fic is in get passed into 'anonymous', your fic will stay 'not anonymous', bcs it stay in the state it was when it was accepted into the collection, and doesn’t change with it.

Basically- if it's a collection neither anonymous nor unrevealed (an easy thing to check when you click on the collection name), nothing can happen to your fic, no matter what the owner of the collection do!

Here are the full explanations with screens. (I did my best xd).

Please stop accusing collections of something they cannot do.

Please.

I've seen a lot of fics disappear from my bookmarks, some 10+ years old, because they were added to an unrevealed collection. It makes me wonder if people realize what your fic being added to a collection actually means and if the authors approved it automatically without realizing what would happen.

If someone adds your fic to their collection, they can hide it! They can mark the collection as unrevealed and your fic will be unreadable to anyone other than them! If you're writing works for a surprise event, like a Secret Santa, this is really nice.

But if you're just writing and someone adds your fic to a collection for their own personal use and marks it as unrevealed, that. . . really sucks.

I bookmarked this fic in 2017, almost 5 years ago. Knowing me, the fic itself was probably at least a couple years old at the time I bookmarked it.

This is a 5+ year old fic that is completely inaccessible now because it was added to a collection that, as far as I can tell, is literally just for the collection owner's own reference. There's almost 30 fics in the collection, all of them unrevealed.

Please don't blindly accept collection requests and if your works ARE in a collection, make sure that they aren't being hidden without your knowledge or consent.

[obae-me]

How He Kisses

Hey there, so things are...kinda awful right now, and while I don't want to fully distract myself from my other works I'm chipping away at, I did want to post something a bit short and sweet to hopefully- well, saying "to make everyone feel better" feels sort of self-inflated, but if I can make everyone stop and think about something happy for just one second, that's more than I can ask for. I have no idea how similar this is to my hug headcanon ones. Not really checked for too many errors, this was all kind of done in the spur of the moment, but I don't think that matters too much.

Lucifer

Proper and slow. He likes being patient, kissing you once before pulling back to look at your face. He feels a sense of Pride when he can see the effect he has on you, knowing that he can comfort you like this. He's a perfectionist, he likes the whole experience to be included. That's why he likes to do it more often when you two are alone, knowing he has the freedom to do whatever it takes to make this moment perfect. Whether it's music, a lit fireplace, over a dinner, under the comfort of a blanket, everything is set up for you. To show his love for you, nothing less than high quality will be accepted. The kiss is simply the bow that ties everything together. And he'll take his time to relish in this moment with you.

Mammon

Fervent and greedy. He cannot contain his love for you. Even around his brothers, he lets it slip. So when you find yourselves alone, it's like pulling the lid off a stuffed container. Your eyelids, your ears, your forehead, cheeks, chin, lips, none of them shall be spared in his spree. It's almost frantic, as if he doesn't get as many now, he'll never have them again. He craves all of you, and he wants to be only yours in equal measure. Love, soul, attention, all of it is for you. It's as if he has to make up the seconds lost whenever you're apart. He never wants it to end. He hardly breathes. Every one is just as good as the last, and he is focused on making it just as wonderful an experience for you as well. After all, he wants you to be greedy too. Tell him your every desire.

Levi

Eager and grateful. Push past the anxiousness and the self-doubt, and you find a Levi that adores you more than anything. Like an ultra rare drop he can't get anywhere else. If he can stand in line for days for something he wants, he will stand with you till the end of time. His kisses show that, how deeply in love he is for you. Given the chance, he has the confidence to prove to you how special you are to him. Every kiss gets him more excited than the last, and in turn, he's determined to do whatever it takes to make you feel just as joyous as he is in these moments. Thank you for being here with him, your presence means more to him than you currently know, and he'll spare no effort to start showing you that.

Satan

Meek and curious. Whether or not it is considered if he's kissed someone before, every time he kisses you, it feels like the first time. He almost always has a distant look on his face, as if he's thinking about a million other things at the same time, and every million of those thoughts is something about you. He learns something new every time and commits it to memory. Which way your head naturally tilts, where you prefer his hands to be, how many you like, how long they take, he's going to remember them all. Well, he says that, but oftentimes its as if his mind wipes after every kiss. It's hard to think during those moments. But he's not worried about it, that just means he'll have to keep going. He has no plans to leave your side anytime soon after all.

Asmo

Uplifting and addictive. He likes to kiss for every occasion, every emotion. Happy? Kiss. Excited? Kiss? Sad? He says he saves his best kisses for those moments especially. Maybe it's shared love that makes his kisses almost tingle, or maybe its some kind of magic. It makes you feel light. And he'll give you as many as you want. He adores kissing you, not able to get enough of it. It's as though he's almost on clockwork, having to give you an embrace at perfect intervals throughout the day. He can't get enough of you, and he can't help but get giddy at the thought of running to your side and letting you know exactly just how much he loves you.

Beel

Warm and encompassing. Gluttony often gets mixed up with Greed, but this is one of those instances where the differences are clear. Every kiss is slow, and feels as if it lasts several lifetimes. It's as if he's drinking you in, savoring this moment in it's entirety. Of course he'll come in for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, but it comes steadily. Something about his kisses fills you with a warmth that's hard to describe, similar to soup or a hot beverage seeping through every part of your body to endure the coldest of days. It makes your toes curl like they're in warm socks. It makes you feel as if nothing can get to you. And with him around, nothing will.

Belphie

Soft and persistent. No amount of drowsiness can stop him. Even if he's asleep, the demon that will normally sleep like the dead will wake himself up and make sure to give you a kiss. They're so gentle, and it's difficult to tell if its tied to his personality, or if he's afraid of hurting you. Sometimes they're as light as a feather, almost tickling you. If you're falling asleep, they'll never wake you, only guiding you towards sweeter dreams. With every movement you make, you'll almost recognize the sensation of his kisses. They're like a promise, an assurance, that even in the deepest darkest of dreams, he's right there. They always lull you into a sense of peace.

[ylangelegy]

hey! i was wondering whether u could write one for this

https://www.tumblr.com/svtsofthours/768410973781524480/mingyu-zoned-out-you-leans-in-and-kisses-him?source=share

just like do not disturb.. 💕 (loved it btw)

💋 none the wiser (mingyu x reader)

★ footnotes: major shoutout to @svtsofthours for being so chill about me using their posts as prompts lol! mingyu soft hours are perpetually open, i fear. listened to kiss me by sixpence none the richer the entire time. word count: 830~

It's a Wednesday, and the only thing on Mingyu's mind is where the two of you should go this evening.

Very rarely does he have a day off like this. He can count on one hand the amount of times that practice has been canceled, that a schedule has been postponed. As it is, the stars have aligned to give him this free afternoon.

And who else would he want to spend it with but you?

The sudden freedom has thrown him off-kilter, though, leaving him fumbling for plans. Mingyu reveled in being the date-planner. In getting to smirkingly tell you I got this, baby every time the two of you were supposed to head out.

He's never learned to work with spontaneity, and so he spends half of his time agonizing.

The two of you are lounging in your apartment as Mingyu swears to figure it out. You're sprawled out on the couch, doing one thing or the other, while your legs rest in Mingyu's lap. He's absentmindedly rubbing your ankles with one hand while the other clutches his phone, scrolling through Klook articles of last-minute date ideas.

"Is it cold enough to go ice skating?" he mumbles, his eyebrows drawn together with laser-sharp focus. It's a rhetorical question, really, because before you can answer, he's already grumbling, "No, no, you're too clumsy for that."

"Hey," you protest.

Mingyu gives your ankle an affectionate pat, but keeps on reading.

There's so many things to do. And so little time. When tomorrow comes, he'll be swept back into his busy day-to-day. The two of you might not see each other for another week or so, and the mere thought of it already has his fingers tightening ever so slightly around you.

Mingyu has never particularly thought himself to be a selfish person. He shares almost everything with his members; he'll give what he can to his fans.

You make him greedy. For affection, for attention, for time.

"I can try to get us a reservation at Via Toledo," he muses.

"Too expensive," you whine.

"If it's for you? Never."

"Mingyu."

"Fine, fine."

He scrolls some more. Clicks on to an entirely different article altogether. He doesn't know why he's stressing over this so badly. He knows you, knows you'll be happy with whatever reasonable thing he offers.

He just can't help it. He wants so, so badly to be good for you, to be good to you.

"How about Lotte World?" he tries.

You look up from your own phone with a considering expression, though it's a bit more on the wary side. "Won't there be too many people?" you ask, ever the careful one.

"I can just rent it out for—"

"Baby!"

"Alriiiight."

Mingyu's pouting now, but you're immune to his little displays of petulance and his attempts at grand gestures. You go back to whatever you were reading with a bemused shake of your head.

He tries to focus on the nth Top Seoul Date Places blog post, but his mind has practically turned to mush at this point. He doesn't realize that his eyes are unfocused or that he's barely registering the words on his phone. His head has quite literally emptied out, all of his ideas making no sense. All Mingyu really wants is—

Oh.

He hadn't even noticed you shifting, hadn't picked up on you leaning forward. When your lips press a gentle, sweet kiss to his forehead, he's dragged back down to earth.

Mingyu blinks once, then twice. He looks to you, starry-eyed and smitten.

"What was that for?" he asks, sounding far too dazed for someone who has already received dozens, hundreds of your kisses.

"No reason," you answer. Your rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We don't have to go anywhere, you know."

"We don't?"

"We don't."

"But—"

His protest is cut off by you darting forward to leave another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth.

"This is enough," you tell him, and the sincerity in your tone is enough to leave him breathless.

And that was it, wasn't it? Mingyu had agonized, Mingyu had zoned out, Mingyu had fallen into near-panic, even, because he had wanted to make himself worth your time. He had wanted to give you the world. Something, anything to show you just how much he adored you.

But he supposes you're right.

"This is enough," he echoes quietly.

You get up from the couch to grab your laptop, announcing that the two of you are going to have a movie marathon. To give Mingyu something to do, you assign him the all-important task of ordering takeout. He rolls his eyes playfully but does as you ask, because you're the light of his life and he will order you the pizza you want if it's the last thing he does.

It's a Wednesday. Mingyu loves you, still.

svtsofthours post ->

Mingyu: [zoned out] You: [leans in and kisses him on the forehead] Mingyu: [blinks and smiles at you with stars in his eyes]

[discoursedumpster]

@puppypalice what do you think a Zionist is, though? Because this implies that there's some kind of Zionist organization or political party that people can join.

As far as I can tell, there are two different definitions people are using for "Zionist."

People who don't think Israel should be violently destroyed.

A specifically Jewish movement of people who love genocide in general, or genocide of Palestinians in particular.

But there's not an organization for either of those things.

You seem to be picturing the second definition? But like... what are they joining? The IDF?

I know they're not joining some evangelical megachurch that wants Israel to exist so that the End Times can come or whatever.

Because nobody is protesting those. They rarely even get mentioned.

I know they're not joining Hamas/PIJ/PFLP, despite the fact that Sinwar said he would fight until the last child in Gaza; despite Haniyeh demanding "the blood of Gaza's children, women, and elderly;" despite the fact that Gazans loathe Hamas for starting the war, routinely torturing and executing dissenters, and committing countless atrocities against them over the past 15 months.

Because at best, nobody gives a shit about Hamas. And at worst, they buy the propaganda that Hamas is "the Palestinian resistance." (Instead of the We Want To Live movement and the Gaza's Liberators movement.)

Are future historians going to be saying this about anyone who hates and opposes Hamas? Because that seems to be what usually gets Gazan activists, and Jews, denounced as Zionists.

If so, that now includes not only most of Gaza:

But also, the rest of Palestine:

That's from one of the co-organizers of the We Want To Live movement, who has twice been jailed and tortured by Hamas for organizing marches in Gaza.

He's only 24, and he's repeatedly put his life on the line for Gaza's freedom. And there is not one person in the pro-Palestine movement that will platform him, or anyone like him. Even Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib -- another Gazan activist, one who hates Israel significantly more than Howidy -- gets pre-emptively blocked.

Anyway, the context for the whole "they'll call them Zionists" thing was that the Hind Rajab Foundation filed 12 complaints against IDF soldiers.

Which does make it seem like that must be what everyone's going to be called Nazis for joining?

The Hind Rajab Foundation is chaired by a former Hezbollah member: Dyab Abou Jahah, a Belgian man from Lebanon who also:

founded a Holocaust denial group;

has repeatedly called for the violent destruction of Israel;

says Europe makes "the cult of the Holocaust and Jew-worshiping its alternative religion";

questioned the existence of the Nazi gas chambers;

and calls gay men “AIDS spreading faggots”...

...just to hit the highlights.

The article notes that there were no troops around when Hind Rajab was killed. Which is news to me, because I only learned about it on social media.

So basically, a guy who is at best a Nazi apologist started a group named after someone who wasn't killed by the IDF, but who he wants us to think was. And now that group is running "a campaign... to identify Israeli soldiers who have published videos to social media in which they commit, claim to have committed, or appear to endorse committing potential war crimes, and to file complaints against the soldiers on that basis."

@stoptheantisemitism blocked me after I said you can't just report people you assume must have committed a war crime. Because surely you can, since "they've posted themselves committing atrocities all over social media" or whatever.

But in fact, the article they posted literally says that the campaign includes people "who appear to endorse committing potential war crimes."

And no matter how despicable or disgusting that is, it's also absolutely fucking silly to be like, "Hey!! Sri Lanka!! SRI LANKA!! This guy who tweeted about wanting to burn Gaza City to the ground is in your country right now!!! Arrest him!!!!!!"

The fuck you want Sri Lanka to do about that??? He didn't commit a crime on their soil, and he's not a citizen of their country.

So I'm assuming you're talking about the IDF. But what's the point of saying that future historians will imply people were Nazis for joining the IDF even if they don't hate Palestinians? People are already calling them that today.

More to the point, it's not like there's a massive movement to move to Israel and get permission to join its military.

Is the point just to make sure we damn everyone in the IDF, whether they personally hate Palestinians or not, whether they were conscripted or not, etc?

Is the point just to call them Nazis?

Is the point to minimize the Nazis by deemphasizing what they did?

Because it seems important that Hitler not only industrialized mass murder and killed a peak of 500,000 people a month, but also:

declared a state of emergency,

seized dictatorial powers,

stripped Jews of their citizenship,

made relationships and sex with them illegal,

pressured white people to boycott all Jewish businesses,

and banned them from leaving the country without turning their property and money over to the Nazis,

none of which Israel has ever done to either the Palestinalsians, or its own Arab citizens.

like, I would assume that nobody is making a conscious attempt to minimize what the Nazis did. But it minimizes what they did either way.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[fancyfeathers]

Since Daughter!Reader is normally shown to be afraid of the batfamily(based on multiple asks) which I understand why, do you ever think Batfam has seen her at school, or maybe Damian, has caught her being her at school? Maybe she's a little aggressive she has some pent up feelings. Like Damian is watching from outside Daughter!Reader's classroom as she battles a boy for her paper, and uh oh she curses. "Gimme the- Gimme the goddamn paper! You little rat." She grits out at said boy and smacks him with her paper once she gets it back. (To me Goddamn isn't a curse word but i think the batfam has banned her from saying anything of the sorts so to them it probably is.) Then the rest of the day he just watches as she practically tackles people, hits them playfully, or even lets them play fight her.

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

this reminds me of one of my friends in high school, he was on the lights crew for theater, and the cast and crew all called him Rat, affectionately.

So I went to a private school and stuff definitely happened. Still, the thing is it did not happen often cause you would get in trouble, so let's be honest Damian and her would definitely be private school kids, so if this was to happen it would probably be if she had an extracurricular that Bruce would approve of, so not sports cause she could get hurt, she could be a tutor, choir is okay. Still, probably theater or some form of preforming arts and let me tell you as a theater kid who does ballet for a living now, theater kids are the most unhinged people on the planet and this sounds like pure theater kid behavior.

So Damian would be going by the rehearsal room because she forgot the snack that Alfred packed for her because Bruce is tired of her skipping meals so now what she eats is monitored. He just slightly opens the door and he just hears...

"Give me my script you fucking whore or I swear to god your mother never loved you."

Damian just sticks his head in and sees his sister running after one of her friends and people are just talking and acting like nothing wrong, even the theater teacher is just sitting there like this is completely normal behavior before rehearsal.

"oh, I'm the whore? We both know your boyfriend gave you head in the gardens after his tennis practice."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

It just ends up with them chasing each other around the room before rehearsal starts and the teacher gets them in line, then Damian comes in and gives her her snack while they are working on something that doesn't involve her yet and he just looks at her with the harshest glare she has ever seen.

"Say any of that foulmouthed language again and I will tell Father and I am sure he would be more than happy to have you homeschooled."

"Fine, whatever."

After that, her friends really start not liking Damian because he is always keeping an eye out to catch her again, just one slip-up. Like they will be walking in the hallway, chatting during the passing period while on their way to their next class and they pass by Damian and right as they reach their next class she gets a text from Damian...

Your uniform skirt is pulled up four inches too high, go to the bathroom and fix it before I see you again.

But this gets so bad that her friends have even started to confront Damian about it. Like it will be at the end of the day and he is putting stuff back into his locker and they come up to him and they are nice at first, trying to explain things to him, making fun of each other is sort of their love language and they promise they aren't getting his sister into any trouble of anything, they just want her to have fun and not feel lonely because she was so depressed when they asked her to join the preforming arts department and now she is actually happy now that she has a small bit of freedom in her life-

"None of that matters, you are encouraging delinquent behavior, and none of your fun matters when my sister's safety is at stake when she spends time with your sort of people."

"God, you have a stick up your ass, did your mother not love you or something?"

"Jesus, calm down he has a step mom."

"Oh, so he was from an affair, not surprising."

After that, Damian realized how popular his sister was because the next day more than half of the school hated him, it's really not surprising she was a very likable person and her boyfriend was the top student at the school, student council president sort of person. When he came home he had photos of what his locker looked like, completely defaced with the foulest of language and when he tried to report it the principal told him that with all the talk in the school at the moment about him there was just no way to prove who did it, but she had the audacity that maybe if he tried to be more likable than it would stop.

"Maybe if you tried to act your age and not twenty years older then people wouldn't have a problem with you. You are not an adult yet, so you should not act as if you are your sister's keeper because I know your sister and she is a bright young lady who does not need you breathing down her neck."

[ssa-dado]

Annoyingly Yours - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, angst though it's more like ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: At 33, Aaron Hotchner prides himself on discipline and control... until you become his deskmate. With quirks that seem to clash against his precision, you’re nothing short of maddening. Even your breathing seems to provoke a visceral reaction in him... surely out of frustration, right? Not out of... attraction?! Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set in 1998, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon and Rossi were charge instead). Word Count: 4.4k Dado's Corner: Based on this ask sent by the loml @c-losur3. Made a few tweaks because I can. And because I’m evil. Enter Aaron “convinces himself he hates you while secretly nursing a big fat crush” Hotchner. A timeless classic. Hope you like it.

masterlist

“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.” - Søren Kierkegaard

Written in blue gel ink on a neon pink sticky note, it sat smugly atop the pristine case file Hotch had spent hours perfecting the night before.

No signature, no admission of guilt.

Just a bright, audacious square of defiance left to mock him.

In all his years as a profiler, he’d never encountered a case this easy to solve. Hell, he wished his active investigations were even half as simple as this. Because only after approximately half a second of analysis, the profile of the Unsub was crystal clear:

Female. Early 20s. A twisted sense of humor. A fascination with philosophy, particularly the existential, though occasionally dabbling in absurdism. Works in law enforcement - specifically, the BAU. Only writes in blue ink because she needs her words to stand out as much as her personality does. Likely has a compulsive habit of arriving to work early but never early enough to beat him to the office.

And there she was, the Unsub, strolling through the entrance just as the clock struck 6:01.

“Good morning, Hotch,” you said without even glancing in his direction, as if you somehow sensed his irritation wafting across the bullpen.

You were the Unsub.

His polyglot, sarcastic, sticky-note-vandalizing deskmate.

Case closed.

“Why did you leave me this?” he scoffed as his fingers carefully peeled back the neon pink square from the folder.

The glue resisted just enough to be infuriating, threatening to leave a smear on what he privately considered his masterpiece - a report so cleanly written that it might one day serve as the gold standard for FBI rookies.

And now, his file, had been vandalized.

It bore your mark.

“Educational purposes,” you said airily, as you dropped into your chair facing his own, a complete lack of regard for the disruption you caused just by existing in his vicinity.

He despised it.

That your desk had to face his, ensuring that every time he so much as lifted his gaze, he was met with the perpetual source of his unease, was nothing short of torture.

Why couldn’t you be like his last deskmate? That moron at least had the decency to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.

The most small talk he’d ever inflicted was the occasional, self-congratulatory monologue about whatever barely-legal college girl he’d managed to con into bed last Friday night with the oh-so-irresistible revelation that he was FBI.

At least after spewing his bullshit, the guy would shut up and return to his self-inflicted misery, no doubt haunted by the limitations of his pitifully small brain.

You, instead, were far too smart - too sharp for your own good, really - but still your humor was as broken as his own. You had the same, if not more, level of drive. And for some inexplicable reason, you shared his obsession with arriving early.

It was maddening.

It was his thing - his small act of rebellion against a world that had always expected more from him than he could give.

His hours of solitude before the office filled with noise, before the madness and the demands of others hijacked his peace. Those few precious hours were his escape, his refuge, where he could think, where he could breathe.

But no, you had to show up too. Every damn morning.

“Educational purposes?” He echoed flatly, regretting, for the hundredth time, that he ever encouraged you to speak before his second cup of coffee.

“Yes, Hotch. I’ve never seen you use a sticky note,” you retorted, as if your reasoning were completely rational and not mildly absurd. “So, naturally, I assumed you didn’t know they existed. Thought I’d be kind of me to introduce you to the concept.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm sliding off his tongue with a sharpness that matched the ache now forming at his temples. “I know what sticky notes are. I don’t use them because they’re impractical. They always leave glue residue, it’s annoying.”

Since for some reasons he felt the need to emphasize his point, he held up his sacred notebook - a worn, leather-bound treasure he treated like an extension of himself. “That’s why we have these. To take proper notes. Like agents. Not middle schoolers.”

But you didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the movement slow and casual, yet just enough to make him irrationally nervous that you might tip over. “They don’t leave residue if you close the case fast enough. The glue won’t have time to dry. But I guess if it takes you ages to solve something, that’s not really the sticky note’s fault, is it? Sounds more like a problem with the agent.”

His jaw locked so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack.

The nerve of you.

He hated how his body betrayed him like this, the faintest tingle at the back of his neck, the way his pulse faltered and then stuttered, because his decision to remain silent didn’t let his voice do the stammering instead.

Oh, he wanted to argue.

Desperately.

To lay out an irrefutable case demonstrating, that the fault lay not in the man who would undoubtedly climb the FBI ranks faster than anyone dared imagine but in the cheap adhesive some factory somewhere had slapped onto your stupid pack of hot pink sticky notes.

And all he wanted, absurdly, was to prove you wrong.

Not just wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

But instead of offering a retort worthy of his reputation, he exhaled sharply, forcing his jaw to unclench.

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, narrowing into the kind of look that could silence seasoned agents, suspects, and even Gideon when necessary.

Yet somehow, it had no discernible effect on the 21-year-old profiler sitting across from him - the one who’d been in the BAU for barely three weeks and already seemed impervious to his most withering glares.

As if in response to his futile attempt at dominance, your smirk widened, as though you could hear the unspoken debate raging in his head. Worse, it looked like you were enjoying the fact that you’d managed to rattle him.

And God help him, he felt rattled.

“How many of those sticky notes do you have?” he finally asked.

Your response was almost immediate.

“As many as you need,” you said as you pulled open your top-right drawer – the drawer that had come to symbolize everything he couldn’t categorize about you.

It housed your so-called “essentials”: pencils, a collection of elastic bands you had an infuriating habit of launching at him when the mood struck, and the same six markers in various states of decay - probably relics from your high school days. There was a stapler in there too - one he had to admit, with no small amount of shame, he borrowed from time to time.

But then there were the other items. The ones his categorically organized brain couldn’t quite justify sharing space with stationary essentials.

A box of tea - the kind of black tea with a scent so strong it practically sucker-punched him from across the desk every time you brewed it, chocolate bars that mysteriously appeared and vanished like contraband…

…and, as it turned out, the dreaded sticky notes.

They were hidden beneath the tea box, of course - because why not force him to think about the assault on his nostrils that would begin precisely three hours and twenty-seven minutes from now?

You lifted the box, revealing the fluorescent pink squares of doom, a shade so bright it only made the pain going on in his head since the first moment you opened your mouth today even worse.

“I only have hot pink, though,” you announced, holding the sticky notes up.

“…And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to use hot pink? Do you have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary,” you said, your lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d whine about a color demasculating your sacred reports.”

He felt his pulse thrum in his ears at that.

He almost - almost - wanted to tell you that you were looking at a man currently wearing pink socks under his neatly pressed slacks. A pair that had, unfortunately, turned pink during his first solo attempt at laundry in college and had somehow managed to stay in his rotation all these years, as a reminder that even the best could make mistakes.

But he didn’t.

Not because he was embarrassed - he wasn’t - but because he knew you’d twist it into something else entirely, another jab, another laugh at his expense.

And the last thing he needed right now was more of this.

Whatever this was.

Instead, he picked up the hot pink sticky notes, tapping them against his palm. “I’ll take them, we’ll see if it’s really the agent’s fault."

By mid-morning, to his reluctant surprise, the sticky notes had become one of his favorite tools - not just for their undeniable practicality but because they gave him the perfect weapon to deliver a dose of your own medicine.

And you deserved it. Absolutely, unequivocally deserved it.

After all, it wasn’t him launching elastic bands at his deskmate with sniper-like precision at ungodly hours, the faint thwack cutting through the quiet bullpen as the band landed squarely in his lap, while he was clearly trying to work. This, from the same person who’d managed to fail their firearm certification twice

It wasn’t him leaning subtly - though not subtly enough - to sneak a peek at his case files because your own workload wasn’t challenging enough to hold your attention. Still too new to the team, you’d only been sent into the field once, a prisoner of the bullpen and endless paperwork. Yet, despite the monotony, you remained undeterred, tirelessly determined to prove your worth at every possible turn.

And it certainly wasn’t him disrupting the flow of the day by asking if his coffee needed refilling when he was clearly already immersed in work, only to return moments later with an extra steaming cup - and a piece of chocolate from that drawer - placing it without a word on his desk like it wasn’t an unnecessary intrusion. Because you were just kind like that.

It wasn’t him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric bunching unevenly around his elbows - a motion so predictable it had practically become your tell when you were wrestling with a puzzle more stubborn than the agent that solving it.

Nor was it how your forearms inevitably transformed into impressionist paintings of smudged blue ink, the accidental artwork often bleeding onto the cuffs of your shirt, leaving the unfortunate soul seated across from you utterly derailed from whatever he’d been about to jot down, unable to look away.

It wasn’t him who dressed like that.

Had a brain like that.

A voice like that.

A face like that.

No.

It wasn’t him. It was you. And that was the problem.

Because for all his irritation, for all his carefully constructed disdain, he couldn’t stop noticing. Couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop… what exactly?

…Right.

Couldn’t stop scribbling down his meticulously crafted revenge, which he would plant squarely on your desk the moment you wandered off to refill your coffee.

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.” – Benjamin Franklin

Thought you might enjoy something to ponder while you’re busy ignoring the typo you made on page 7, line 15 of your report.– A.H.

He placed the sticky note precisely in the center of your desk, ensuring it was impossible to miss. Satisfied, he returned to his seat, feigning an air of indifference as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

It didn’t take long.

He didn’t look up when you arrived, but he heard it - the subtle shift in your breathing, the gasp as your eyes widened. The pages of your report rustled as you flipped through them, and the sharp exhale that followed told him you’d found it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Never had a sound been so soothing to his ears.

And yet - he should have known better.

He barely had time to blink before the loud thud of your hand slamming onto his desk jolted him upright. He looked up to find you standing over him, your eyes gleaming with a smugness so infuriating it made him want to wipe it off your face.

His gaze darted down to the sticky note you’d slapped in front of him, and -

Oh.

Hotch stared at it. Then stared some more.

There, in all its crude glory, was what could only be described as a "creative interpretation" of a very specific part of the male anatomy, staring back at him from the bright pink square.

“The proportions are all wrong.” He deadpanned.

And then you, with all your infuriating composure, leaned on his desk.

Close. Too close.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner," you said, raising a brow. "If you want it anatomically correct, maybe next time you should hand me a reference photo."

His brain short-circuited.

For a horrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single word, but only at the implication of what you said… you couldn’t mean that… right?!

“Not yours!” you blurted out, your hands flailing in a frantic attempt to erase the moment. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t asking for- I just-”

"And I certainly wouldn’t-" he cut in, his own voice breaking due to the sudden clumsiness of his own tongue.

But the damage was done.

Your cheeks turned the same vivid shade as the neon pink sticky note still plastered defiantly on his desk. He felt his own face burning, and the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, like his own body was actively rebelling against him.

Both of you were way too stunned to say anything that wouldn’t somehow make it worse.

Hotch’s mind raced for a way to defuse the situation, but every possible response felt like it would either escalate the embarrassment or reveal… something he wasn’t ready to confront.

And then, mercifully - or perhaps not - your survival instincts kicked in.

“I’ll just… uh… get more coffee,” you muttered, backing away from his desk like it might physically combust if you stayed a moment longer. You turned on your heel, clearly aiming to escape the bullpen as fast as humanly possible. “Do you want some?”

He blinked, thrown off by the question. “Yes, thanks. Black,” he replied automatically, his voice still a little stiff.

As soon as you were out of sight, he allowed himself to crumble. His left hand dragged across his face, fingers pressing against his temples as if they could massage the ridiculousness of it all out of his brain.

Stupid. The whole thing was so stupid.

A slip of the tongue, a misstep, blown completely out of proportion.

And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk, undone by a pink sticky note and a fleeting moment of awkwardness.

With a low, frustrated groan, he let his hand drop, hitting his forehead against the heel of his palm in a futile attempt to snap himself out of it.

Focus. He needed to focus.

He stared down at the open case file in front of him, its neatly typed words mocking him with their clarity.

He knew they were legible - he’d written them himself.

But right now, the letters blurred into meaningless smudges on the page, overridden by a far more vivid image - your face.

Flushed. Wide-eyed. Flustered.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Just a joke, he reminded himself. Just a stupid, ill-timed joke.

And yet his chest still felt tight, his pulse erratic, like he’d run up the stairs two steps at a time.

His gaze flicked to the sticky note still sitting on the edge of his desk, as bright and offensive as the moment it had first been slapped down in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, crumpling it in his fist.

There. Problem solved. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

He could move on.

But then his hand stilled, his grip loosening as he stared at the crumpled ball of paper.

His pulse still raced, his mind still spiraled, and all because of… this.

A rational man would throw it away. Rip it into pieces, toss it into the trash, and let it become a fleeting, forgotten memory.

He should throw it away. He would throw it away. Any second now.

But his hand didn’t move.

Instead, and against every shred of common sense he prided himself on, Hotch smoothed the crumpled edges as best he could and opened his desk drawer, tucking it far into the back, behind a few other things he pretended not to care about but couldn’t quite get rid of.

Hidden away, out of sight.

Safe.

From what? From you? From himself? He didn’t have the answer, and he didn’t dare linger on the questions.

Instead, he closed the drawer with more force than necessary, ignoring the faint tremor in his hand - but even as he turned his attention to the files in front of him, the pink still lingered in his periphery, an afterimage burned into his mind.

Of your flustered face.

Adorable.

So adorable that, over time, that sticky note became far from the only item inhabiting that drawer.

Aaron Hotchner - the very man who had once scoffed at your so-called “miscellaneous essentials” drawer - now secretly had one of his own.

A collection of odd, seemingly random things: items you had given him, thrown at him in moments of boredom, or those ridiculous little tokens you’d started exchanging lately that blurred the line between teasing and genuine thoughtfulness.

Because that’s what deskmates did, right?

They shared. They joked. They exchanged these odd little tokens of camaraderie that somehow made the job less crushing.

Except this felt like something more.

Maybe you were more than deskmates. Maybe even… friends?

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gideon, had been starting to observe the two of you like he was profiling a particularly complex unsub, his sharp, knowing glances making Hotch feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Then there was Rossi, who took an almost perverse delight in making his observations less subtle. "Synergy," he'd say with a pointed smirk, the kind that made Hotch’s jaw tighten. "It’s a rare thing, you know, finding compatibility like this. Magic, really."

They saw something. Something neither of you was ready to admit.

And ominously - no, deliberately - they decided to exploit it.

Because that’s what bosses did.

The BAU was chronically understaffed, perpetually fighting against the outdated perception that profiling was glorified guesswork. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, either. Most cases were worked from behind desks, saving the budget for the bigger field assignments.

But what the BAU lacked in glamour, it tried to make up for in partnerships - teams so seamlessly synchronized they became the backbone of the unit.

Apparently, you and Hotch had become one of those teams.

What had started as two distinct desks - two well-defined territories with clear boundaries - had slowly morphed into one chaotic shared space.

A 5’x5’ no-man’s-land where it was impossible to tell where your workspace ended, and his began.

Like now.

The oversized map of your current case sprawled across the desk, forcing you both into closer proximity than either of you would normally allow.

You were perched on his side of the desk, tracing potential paths and patterns, completely absorbed in piecing together the unsub’s geographical profile.

He told himself he was focused. Jotting down victim locations. Marking points on the map with  little red magnets.

Totally immersed in the task at hand.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the occasional brush of your arm against his felt electrifying in a way it had no right to be.

Because your voice, low and steady as you murmured your observations, felt less like background noise and more like the only sound in the room.

And yet, this closeness, this seamless partnership, felt natural.

Effortless.

Distracting as hell.

So distracting that by the time he placed the last magnet, he realized he’d miscounted. One victim left, and no magnet to place them.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the map, “It looks like we might’ve missed a pin for Daniel Hardman.”

How diplomatic of you.

How unnecessarily kind, considering it was entirely his fault.

He’d miscounted the magnets - a mistake caused by a momentary lapse in focus when, mid-count, you casually asked him if he wanted to go watch the first Star Wars prequel with you next year.

It wasn’t just the advance planning that sent his mind reeling - though the thought of you penciling him into your future like that was disarming enough - it was the fact that you remembered he liked Star Wars.

A detail you had no business remembering, and yet, somehow, you did.

“Yes, sorry. There are more in my drawer,” he said, standing quickly to fetch them himself. But before he could stop you, you were already at the drawer, pulling it open.

“It’s the second one-” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the gasp.

“…from the top,” he finished weakly, already knowing what you’d seen.

There they were. Your tokens. In his drawer. Staring right at you.

The gun casing from the bullet you’d proudly handed him after finally earning your firearm certification on your third attempt. You’d declared, almost giddy, that you’d never be a burden to him again, and maybe it was his lessons, you’d added shyly, that had helped you finally overcome it. He wasn’t sure what had struck him more: the pride in your voice or the fact that you’d thought of him at all.

A framed solo photograph of the two of you from that year’s Thanksgiving spent stuck in the bullpen, drowning in case files while Rossi and Gideon insisted on a makeshift dinner with takeout. You hadn’t hesitated for a second, throwing an arm around him for the picture and leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. For you, maybe it had been. For him, it had been anything but.

Every single elastic band you’d launched at him -143, though he’d never admit to counting.

A single stray hair tie - the one you’d used to tie his hair into a ridiculous fountain one day when his fringe had gotten so long it kept falling into his face. He’d left it like that the rest of the day, silently cursing himself for how much he didn’t hate it.

An unopened pack of hot pink sticky notes, the only color he now allowed himself to buy, though he’d never admit why.

And, of course, every sticky note you’d ever left him, arranged in chronological order - except for one.

The “caricature,” the crude drawing that had started his ridiculous collection. That particular sticky note hadn’t stayed long in the drawer. Somehow, it had made its way home with him, “inexplicably” framed and placed on his bedside table.

It now sat next to his alarm clock, the two most irritating objects in his life.

Both constant reminders of things he couldn’t seem to escape - one for its relentless insistence on dragging him out of bed every morning, and the other for how it made him feel every time he looked at it.

And now here you were, looking up from the drawer, eyes wide. “Hotch…”

He tensed, his pulse quickening with each step you took toward him… what were you doing?

Without a word, you opened your drawer—the infamous "essentials" drawer he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

Except this time, its contents had changed.

Because right on top, perched like a cherished keepsake, was a photo he hadn’t known existed.

Another one from that Thanksgiving night.

The one photo taken moments later, when you’d decided, in your infinite ability to wreak havoc, to joke about “capturing a moment” and had wrapped your arms around his head, holding him still as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

His expression in the photo was pure indignation, eyebrows furrowed in protest - though it also captured the deep rouge spreading across his cheeks.

“This one is my favorite,” you said, laughing as you held it up for him to see. “You’re so red in it, it’s hilarious.”

He stared at the photo, feeling the telltale warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him all over again. His ears burned as he managed to mutter, “Never been kissed by a woman before.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

You blinked, your laughter abruptly halting as your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, seriously? Are you-?”

He sighed, cutting you off before your pity or disbelief could spiral out of control. “I was joking,” he said, voice flat and utterly deadpan. “I’ve been kissed by women. Multiple.”

You burst into laughter again, this time doubling over. “Oh my God! Why did you say it like that? Multiple! Hotch,” you said, gasping for air between giggles, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to the map in front of him. “You’re killing me.”

You didn’t hear him, thank God - or if you did, you gave no sign. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

A moment later, you were back at his side of the desk, the missing red magnet in your hand. You held it out to him, your smile still warm, still lingering. “For the record,” you said, your voice softer now, “I think it’s kind of sweet. That you framed it, I mean.”

His hand hesitated as he reached for the magnet, his fingers hovering just over yours. Something so simple suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Delicate.

He couldn’t seem to figure out how to take the magnet without brushing against your skin - not that he didn’t want to.

He just wasn’t sure if he should.

“It’s a good photo,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before darting back to the map.

Safe. Neutral.

But you didn’t retreat.

If anything, your smile only grew.

“Yes,” you said, voice just as quiet. “It is.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[angelpinkfall]

❤Hooker Sukuna X F!Virgin Reader❣Smut❣❤

SFW: (She/Her Pronouns & Genitalia)

Sukuna has spent years mastering his craft as a hooker, building a reputation that places him leagues above the rest.

With no desire to conform to the grind of a 9-to-5, he carved his own path, one paved with charm, confidence, and dominance.

Gender never mattered to him; he was equally adept at controlling and satisfying both men and women, always maintaining the upper hand.

His reputation as the King of Curses came not only from his siren-like allure but also from his cutthroat prices, cocky attitude, and a chilling detachment that ensured no client ever got too close.

For Sukuna, this was just a job, money, power, and freedom rolled into one. He never cared for the people he served… until now.

You are a driven, successful woman in your late 20s. With a thriving career and a busy life, you’ve achieved everything you’ve set out to, everything except the intimacy you’ve secretly craved.

Despite being in relationships before, none of them ever moved beyond the occasional kisses and fumbling touches. Trust and comfort were always missing, and those connections never felt right.

Recently, at your best friend’s bachelor party, something shifted. Watching the vibrant, uninhibited joy around you stirred something you hadn’t felt before: longing. For once, you wanted to let go, to feel confident and in control of your own desires.

A tipsy conversation at the bar introduced you to the infamous King of Curses, a name whispered with awe and intrigue. A professional, someone who could give you the experience you wanted without the complications.

At first, the idea felt absurd and just flat out wrong. Giving your virginity to a man like that? It was outlandish, irresponsible even.

But as days passed and your frustration grew, the rational side of your mind began justifying the choice. Sukuna’s experience, reputation, and confidence made him seem like the safest option. If anyone could make your first time memorable, it was him.

After days of debating with yourself, pacing back and forth, you finally dialed the number. Hearing his smooth, teasing voice on the other end sent a shiver down your spine.

Now, standing at your front door with the King of Curses knocking, you wonder if this was the right decision, or the beginning of something you never saw coming.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

NSFW: (She/Her Pronouns & Genitalia)

When he first sees you, he doesn’t bother hiding his smirk, his crimson eyes lazily raking over your figure. “Not bad,” he says, leaning against your doorframe with an air of cocky indifference, though the heat in his gaze betrays his casual tone.

When you admit it’s your first time, his brow arches sharply. A predator-like grin spreads across his face. “Really? Someone like you? With curves that practically beg for hands to explore them?” His tone is dripping with incredulity and a hint of excitement, already sizing you up for the night ahead.

Your nerves make your voice shake when you ask him to take it slow. He chuckles softly, nodding. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Your money, your rules,” he quips, though his grin suggests he might have other plans once you loosen up.

He starts slowly, true to his word, settling between your thighs with a dangerous glint in his eye. His split tongue flicks out as he leans in, the sight alone making your breath hitch and your core tighten.

His lips press soft, teasing kisses up the inside of your thighs, and you nearly lose your composure. Each nip and suck builds the tension until you feel like you might shatter before he even gets to the main event.

The teasing ends abruptly when his mouth finally meets your clit, the wet heat of his tongue and lips pulling a surprised cry from you. He doesn’t let up, alternating between sucking and rolling his tongue with devastating precision.

The sensation is overwhelming, especially with his split tongue adding a level of skill you’ve never imagined. You clutch at his hair, gasping his name, and the groan he lets out vibrates against your core, pushing you to your first orgasm of the night.

As you clamp your thighs around his head and tug harder on his hair, he moans like a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips to keep you locked in place as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When you finally release him, panting and dazed, his face is glistening, his eyes half-lidded and hungry. “You’re full of surprises,” he mutters, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, though he’s already moving to position himself over you.

The next part happens in a blur. He presses your legs back, folding you almost in half as he thrusts into you with unrelenting fervor. Each stroke is deep, fast, and demanding, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra.

His pace is feral, and you feel the pulsing of his cock as he drives you both higher, each thrust dragging cries and moans from your lips. He seems addicted to the way your body responds, the way you tremble beneath him.

You lose count of how many times you both climax. By the time his movements finally slow, the sheets are a mess, your body is boneless with exhaustion, and he looks as wrecked as you feel.

Morning comes too soon. You wake up cuddled against his chest, the warmth of his skin and the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into temporary comfort. That is until you realize where you are.

Your panic sends you flying out of bed, tumbling to the floor in a flurry of blankets and embarrassment. He throws his head back, laughing loudly at your disheveled writhing on the floor. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t break that pretty neck of yours.”

In that moment, something shifts for him. Maybe it’s the way you blush so easily, the way you nervously fumble to cover yourself with the sheet, or the fact that your scent still clings to his skin. Whatever it is, he knows he doesn’t want this to be the last time.

“Guess I’m sticking around,” he mutters, more to himself than you, a sly grin tugging at his lips. Whether it’s the sex, your innocence, or something else entirely, you’ve somehow managed to ensnare the so-called King of Curses.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

SFW: After 

After that first night, he found himself coming back far more often than he should have.

At first, he chalked it up to your body, the way you responded to him so earnestly, the way your flushed expressions lingered in his mind. But that didn’t explain why he kept offering his services at a "discount," something that was absolutely beneath him.

Each time he visited, his excuses became weaker and it seemed like you were catching on. He continued to deny your prodding questions, but even he couldn’t deny it, he just wanted to see you again.

Then came the day he saw you outside your usual space, in line at a small coffee shop. He almost didn’t recognize you without your usual flustered demeanor. You looked so natural, focused on the menu, lips slightly pursed as you decided what to order.

He debated walking past, but then you turned, your eyes lighting up as you spotted him. That simple reaction knocked the air out of his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

You invited him to sit with you, and as the conversation flowed, he found himself captivated.

You spoke passionately about your work and hobbies, topics he wouldn’t have thought twice about before. But the way your eyes lit up when you talked about them was infectious.

He didn’t even notice his own small smile forming until your face scrunched in confusion.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

That’s when he saw it, a foam mustache from your coffee. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he wanted to reach out and wipe it away himself.

So he did.

His thumb brushed across your lips, leaving a lingering warmth that made your cheeks heat.

“There. All better,” he said with a smug smirk, thoroughly enjoying how flustered you were.

You covered your mouth with your hand and stammered a thank-you, but he was already lost in his own thoughts.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection anymore. For the first time in years, he found himself wanting to stick around, no ulterior motives, no transactions, just… you.

And that scared him more than anything else ever had.

He’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[kiame-sama]

Drag Me to Hell- (Yandere!Alastor x Chubby!Reader) pt. 3

Warnings; spoilers for episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel, yandere relationship, yandere temper, yandere behavior, toxic relationship, Alastor is not fond of disobedience, don't make deals with demons,

~~~~~~~~

"Good talk, chum!"

Alastor hummed as he moved towards the shadows, leaving behind a shaking and terrified Husker. There were many words that could be used to describe Alastor and none were more fitting than terrifying.

None knew this better than you.

"Husker," you started, emerging from where you had been waiting down the hall, "are you okay?"

The hellcat tried to pull himself together quickly and brush you off, but his shaking betrayed how truly afraid he was. When Alastor wanted to put terror into others, he didn't need to work very hard to accomplish his goal.

"Why the Hell d'you care? You're his fuckin' favorite, the fuck you know about it?"

You knew he was lashing out to protect himself, but the words almost managed to make you flinch. Luckily for the both of you, you didn't and you kept a level head. If he had seen... Still, you wanted to try and comfort the fellow lost soul ensnared by your eternal captor.

"Husker, listen to me."

Something about your firm tone made the demon pause, an almost confused and unsettled expression on his face. It was rare that you became so serious and pleading with anyone, let alone tried to actually talk to anyone for extended periods of time. Something about your tone made him want to take whatever you were going to say seriously.

"You may think you know the limits of his patience but you don't. I know them. I have seen more than you know and have been by his side for longer than you may expect. I can never share these things. I can never tell anyone what I have heard and seen. Those memories are not my secrets to share. But I can tell you some of the terms of my contact, and I hope you understand and take heed."

You were choosing your words carefully, knowing that you could only say so much before the fine-print of your contract with Alastor silenced you. Parroting one of the key lines of your contract even as you navigated your way through the red-tape and fine print. Alastor made sure to create a rather finely crafted contract to outline your deal with him and you had plenty of time to read over it again and again.

"Expected and Required are the same thing. I am expected to remain by Alastor's side until he doesn't want me to be. I am expected to do what is asked of me by Alastor and no one else. I am expected to keep what I see and hear a secret unless Alastor wishes for me to speak on the matter. I am expected to remember the primary terms of every contract I have seen. And I have to say, Husker, I know better than anyone what chains can bind some overlords."

Husker seemed confused for a moment before his eyes flashed with recognition before shifting to curiosity. You could only hope that he gathered the information you wanted to give him without having directly said it.

"You were there for my deal, weren't you?"

"I cannot say. Those are not my secrets to share."

"But where were you? I thought it was just me an' him. Unless... Hells, you're his microphone, aren't you?"

"I am expected to be by his side until he doesn't want me to be."

"You've been around long enough to see my deal, you must have seen so many other deals too. Why do you stay with him? Ain't there any kind of freedom to your deal?"

"My deal was made to keep me safe from other demons. It... Evolved into what it is now. I stay safe and in return I do as my deal says, no questions. That is what I agreed to. Look, Husker, all I am saying is your leash could be tighter, your chains could be heavier, and you could have far less freedoms than you have now. Don't squander it over someone like Mimzy."

"I just know she is bad news! But he won't listen."

"I know she is bad news too and I admit, I hate her. Every time she shows up she uses him and thinks she has some kind of control over him because he lets her get away with this nonsense."

You sighed and tried to smile at Husker, feeling the wry and strained grin become more of a grimace. It was true that you strongly disliked the woman that only appeared when she needed help and you knew she didn't like you either. Mimzy had obvious feelings for Alastor and she hated the fact that you were close to him when she so desperately wanted to be in your place.

"Husker, I can't say I like you- he doesn't like competition of any kind- but I don't want you killed or hurt. You are a better person than you claim to be and we both know it. Just know that though he doesn't like your tone, he does hear you and your concerns."

"Listen, (y/n), maybe if we talk to Charlie about your deal, she can-"

You sharply stood from where you had been kneeling by his side, already knowing where the conversation was going and not wanting either of you to get hurt by the blowback. If Husker finished his sentence, odds are Alastor would not hesitate to rip his soul to shreds for daring to try and break the deal you had. There was no way you were going to let such a thing happen and that meant you had to make it clear to Husker as well.

"No. I am happy with my deal. I would never say anything to the contrary or try to get out of my deal with Alastor. Besides, I have seen too much and know too much for him to ever let me go peacefully. That level of blood and retribution is far too high a price. Don't suggest it again, Husker, or we will both be in trouble for it. Please, just trust me to-"

The way your voice died in your throat with a slight choke let the demon know you said as much as you could. Though there was more you wished to say, you could feel your own leash tighten in a clear warning and you knew then he had been listening. Odds are, Alastor had been listening to the whole thing and he was not pleased with your attempts to get around his gag order. It was also clear to you that Alastor was likely testing you by letting Husker get as far as he did in his questioning.

A chill ran down your back and you saw your fellow demon's eyes widen as he stared behind you. The clawed hand of the Radio Demon rest on your shoulder, his head leaning over so you could barely see his threatening grin in your peripheral view. You could feel his shadows crawling over your skin and around you as he casually asserted control over both you and Husker.

"Now, now. Whatever could you two possibly be discussing? It wouldn't happen to be about the rules you know you can't discuss, right?"

"Of course not, Alastor. We both know that they aren't my secrets to share even if I wanted to, which I don't. I am simply informing him from one damned soul to another that trying to rile you is a bad idea."

A soft growl could be heard from Alastor and you could feel the slight brush of his antlers against your head as his annoyance grew. As far as you knew, you hadn't said anything to upset him and you had not breached the terms of your contract. But the way his hand tightened on your shoulder told you Alastor was unhappy about something and you were terrified what that would mean for Husker.

"I have told you what to call me many times now, (y/n). I do not appreciate your continued failure to heed my instruction."

It then dawned on you why Alastor was irritated and in some ways it was ridiculous to you. He was upset because you called him Alastor and not a pet name as he had requested. Honestly, you had forgotten entirely about something so trivial, but you also knew Alastor was a stickler for details.

"Dear, I feel there is a time and place for terms of endearment and they have no place in serious discussion."

"That is for me to decide and you to obey. Do not presume such things again, Sugar. Now, what is this about you hating Mimzy?"

"She is only here to try and use you, we all know that. I don't like her casual attempts at controlling you and I know she dislikes me as well."

"I don't care what she thinks of you, it is not her decision if I keep you with me or not. Now, I would hope you know better than to question me, because I doubt you want to spend another half a decade locked away again. Do I make myself clear, Honey?"

"... Yes, Darling."

Alastor was quick to disappear once more into shadow, leaving both you and Husker to stare at one another in silence. You both knew he likely didn't go far and that he was always watching whatever it was you chose to do. With this constant observation in mind, you did your best to keep your actions to a minimum and to keep any backlash from hurting Husker.

"We both know what our place is. It would be best that we don't question it. I'm truly sorry for the pain you feel, Husker, but we made our choices. Be happy your choice gives you some kind of freedom."

[artofchoisan]

IN THE ARMS OF A VILLAINY

Pirate!Captain!San x Fem!Reader!Royal!Navy!Commander

The plot: Being a commander at the navy, known for being ruthless and merciless towards all the vile pirates except for one. One pirate that had brought you nothing but troubles, yet you couldn't do anything as due to how powerful and how sometimes he was useful to the government, none could touch him. One time after an encounter with him at a tavern, your anger got the best of you and you sneakily got into his ship just to be caught by the foul pirate.

TW: Rough Sex, Spanking, Mockery, Teasing, Choking, Degradation, Slight Bondage,

Words: 3.8k words

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hatred, that was the first emotion that burned like thousands suns under your skin as soon as your eyes landed on the captain of this notorious pirate ship. They’ve been known to have robbed many merchant ships and had the blood of countless innocent under his sword. Your jaw clenched as you watched from afar inside the inn you were in. 

Choi San was amongst those pirates that you despise the most, as a commander in the Royal Navy, you wanted to arrest this man for as long as you could remember but since San had made a deal with the King, he was untouchable. 

-

His eyes then catch yours, your hatred towards him was known to many even to him as he had escaped your clutches many times, your swords had clashed more than fingers you could count. The only response to which he gave you was a knowing smirk and a wink which infuriated you even more.

That night you didn't know what took hold of you, you didn't know what possessed you to sneak on his ship in the middle of the night. You cursed under your breath now knowing what you were doing, it was a quiet way silence for your liking.

Out of nowhere, you feel a harsh pain on the back of your head as you fall into darkness.

Harsh cold water being thrown onto your face which awakened you as you gasped out, coughing out. Immediately on high alert you glanced around as with fear, the realization that you were being restrained caught up to you and the face devoid of emotions of Choi San greeted you. The tip of his sword lifted your chin, “I know you’re obsessed with me darling, but there are certain limits to not be crossed.”

“I have the right to do whatever I want, foul pirate. Isn't that what you do?”

San was silent before he scoffed, shaking his head, “I’m a foul pirate, I don't expect for the Navy to do the same. But your King already made a deal, you should know that I’m untouchable.” His hand now hardly lifted your chin as you glared more at him with gritted teeth, an amused smile caressed his lips, “Look at me more like this, it might turn me on even more.” His thumb caressed your lips, “I feel like you should be punished.”

“I've seen how you looked at me.” San whispered into your ear, “How about we put our differences aside for tonight. I will give you such a wild night that no one will ever fuck you as good as I did, you’ll only hatefully yearn for my cock to wreck you apart.”

You were a commander of the law, but you were still a human, a woman with desires. Time could come and go but who wouldn't ever think of being taken apart by such a bad guy, you did have thoughts that made your hand linger down as you thought how he would relentlessly take you on, something you’ll never ever admit.

There were thoughts that clouded your mind, thoughts of envy. As much as you hate it, you were jealous of the freedom that the pirate could have, despite the killing, you yearn for that freedom. Yet, it seems that San could see right through you, the want for freedom could be seen from a vile pirate.

“How about this?” Hot breathing hitting against your cheek, “Let me give you a taste of freedom and freewill. Let me show you what you’ve been missing by mindlessly following the law. Don’t tell me that you’ve never wished to see this freedom, I can see it as clear as a jellyfish in your eyes.”

Avoiding San’s eyes were enough of an answer. The pirate grinned pressing his lips to your ear, bringing goosebumps onto your skin, “How about this—” You headbutt him as he grunted back and holding his nose with a sinister smile threatening his lips, “So, you want to play like that, then, we’re going to play.”

“I wanted to play nice but…” San grasped onto the rope that tied you up, pulling you up as you groaned out before forcing your back to face as he slammed your head onto the fur of the bed, “You leave me no choice, I will show you freedom in the wildness form possible.”

Your hands were tied in your back and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction so you bite back your words before, “You foul pirate.” Gritting your teeth with a victorious smirk on your lips, “It would take a lot to make me admit what you want. It won't mean that I give in to you, you’re still a murderer.”

He turned you around and he slammed you on the bed with a chuckle, “Don’t worry I do enjoy myself some challenge, you’ll be the one begging for it.” 

San undid the laces of his pants as your eyes widened before undoing it and taking it off, allowing his cock to be free, he was big and semi-hard with veins wrapped around his cock. His grip gently grasped around it with a wicked grin towards you.

You were lost for words, your breathing only hitched as a gasp escaped from you. Not wanting for the foul pirate to win, you didn't rip your gaze away from the sinful sight that bestowed into your sight.

So you only watch, looking at how the pirate let out soft grunts as he pumped his cock, how with that sickening grin on his face, he began to stroke it right in front of your eyes, “You don’t want to lose, huh? What if I put it right in front of your mouth? Would you suck it?”

“I will fucking bite it off.”

“Ohh feisty I like that but I’m your only way out.” The way his hands grabbed his cock and stroked it so sensually caused you to feel a throbbing in your inside and you unintentionally closed your leg, “I see, I do I’m having an effect on you. So will you be a good girl and give in?”

Adjusting his pants, San stood up and advanced towards you with a dark glare into his eyes. Taking his sword, he traced it along your clothed body, you reacted with a flinch yet he could only laugh at your pathetic self, “Hmm.” San made a displeased face, “I’ve always been curious what kind of body you’re hiding behind this white uniform…”

Piercing his sword hard enough so that it only pierce your clothes as he swung it hard enough. San leaned closer and ripped the clothes off of your body as you gasped out, your bared body as you squirmed around as his sword caressed your naked skin, from your stomach to your chest, “You look even more gorgeous, all naked and so vulnerable in front of you.”

“I’ll fucking kill you, damn pirate.” 

The pirate smiled, one of cunningness with a pride gaze that you wanted nothing more to rip off his face, “Choi San is the name.”

“I don’t fucking care.” You yelled as you squirmed around quivering and whimpering out not being a fan of being so naked right in front of him like that drove you insane, “Once you’re dead no one will remember it.”

San chuckled, putting his sword away, “You need to remember my name since you’ll be moaning it in a few.” 

His fingers now trailed onto your bared body, it was cold, revolting as his calloused hand landed onto your body, a touch that felt like a scorching heat, a whine was all you could muster already telling him all that he need to know, it’s been too long since anyone had touched you.

Once he groped your breast, you couldn't help that shameless moan that erupted from your throat and once his fingers twirled around your nipple and pinched them hard, you whined out a curse, “It’s quite hot to have you all tied up and naked, squirming at my every touch. How does this freedom taste? How does it feel to be touched by a foul pirate?”

Soon enough, San now almost sat on top of you, you could feel how his clothed crotch rubbed against your warmth as you bite back your moans, throwing your head back with a gasp, “Let me show you how good foulness can feel.” 

His tongue caught onto your nipple as you arched your back, his teeth grazed onto the sensitive bud as he sucked and nipped on it, “Ahh…Mhhmm….Fuuck…” Your moans made a red burning shame to cross your cheek with an uneven breathing from you as San bestowed more bites onto your nipple, latching on it with his wet tongue, pulling them, playing with you like a puppet as he groped your other breast painfully as pleasure slithered down your back, “Nhhggg…Mhhmmm.”

“Taste so good..” San moaned into his bites as his tongue swirled around your nipple as you squirmed and the way he held your bare waist drove you insane, you hated how you wanted more from him, hated how you wanted him to just devour you.

“Should I make you cum? Do you even deserve that right now?” The tint of mockery into his voice drove you on edge as he licked a long stride then twirls his tongue around your nipple, “I don't think I’ll give it easily but I will take it as a win once you moan my name.”

As you tried to hit him with your leg, he scoffed, “Alright you want to play like that.” 

Grabbing you harshly, San turned you around, his breathing heavy and satisfied yet not so pleased with your bratty attitude, pushing your body over the fur bed once more as your right cheek pressed hard onto the blanket, “I wanted to play nice but you don't deserve it.” The way his voice turned cold, sent shivers down your spine. 

Writhing around him seemed to piss San even more, his hand came around your neck, wrapping around your skin with a soft press before releasing his hold, “Stop, fucking, moving.” Each word was spat as he bestowed a hard slap onto your ass forcing you to stop moving as he scoffed, “Good girl but I don't like disobedience so I will leave you like that.” 

With that, San pushed your body fully onto the bed as he scoffed, “Also, seems like you really wanted me since you have forgotten that I tied only your hands not your legs.” 

With a smirk, he left the room and closed the doors behind him leaving you already so wet and naked and fuming with anger at how San found out your true desire.

It would take him no time to make you moan out his name. 

It would take him no time to make you bend down for him.

It would take him no time to make you let your true desires be out.

At this point, you didn't know what to think as you laid down on the bed handcuffed. Somehow you were glad, it appeased you that all the responsibility as a commander felt light on your shoulder. If everyone thought you were dead, nothing held you back anymore as your eyes closed with a deep exhale as you opened them slowly. Being kidnapped by a pirate and being held hostage? How could it feel so light?

You expected the foul pirate to be forceful towards you, yet it wasn't the case. He was ruthless but not in the case that you expected for it to be. But this wouldn't make you put your guard down.

You were still on high alert.

San was just too unexpected, too wild and that fucking smirk.

You were about to doze off, since what else was there for you to do? Last night, sleep nested into your soul and you’ve just been awoken by those thoughts clouding your mind. Also thinking what would San do you once you bend to his wishes. Only death could await you. He was a cruel pirate after all, the slight goodness he had shown shouldn't cloud your mind.

San had only been playing with you.

Criminals are still criminals no matter what.

Even if their face looked so handsome, a jawline that looked as sharp as a cutlass and feline eyes.

The door creaked open forcing you out of your sleepiness, taking a protective stance as you backed away, as you glared hard at none other than San who entered the room. 

Apparently, during the night, you ended up having a blanket draped around your naked body with your hand still tied up. His amused laughter followed, “Are you always that angry so early in the morning? Shouldn't you be thanking me darling? I gave you my bed to sleep in and now you’re frowning at me?”

This was his room? Why would he do that? What was he even planning?

You could only sigh and look away, tiredness boring upon your skin, you were exhausted, “I have no idea what you have planned but get it over with and just kill me already?” With a smirk, you looked at him as you spat, “That’s what you wanted, right? All you pirates are cruel with no fucking emotions!” 

San cupped your cheek hard, you could almost feel your bone crack by how forceful it was, the anger that resided in his eyes didn't diminish, a fire seemed to burn as his whole body was calm, “Listen darling..” His tongue pressed inside of his cheek as he tilted his head while his eyes looked down on you, “If I wanted you dead I would have pierced you with my sword after using your body for my own advantage but I do believe I did nothing of that, right? Now be a good girl and eat.”

He released the hold on you as you gazed down at the bowl of what seemed to be chicken soup, “I’m not hungry.” You frown but the sound coming from your stomach was enough to make him crack a smile as you whisper under your breath, “Okay maybe just a bit.”

The blanket still draped over your bared body, he took a spoonful of the soup to your mouth as you hesitantly took it in your mouth, your eyes widened softly, it tasted nice and San noticed it as your eyes softened and your body relaxed for a while, the tension disappearing for a while, “Glad you like it, I will send my praises to the chef from you.”

Before taking another mouthful, you stopped yourself, “Why are you doing this? Why…” Your voice grew quiet and tired, “Why are you being so nice? You’re a pirate?” 

San chuckled, “I thought those in the Navy were smart..” He gave you another spoon as you took it once more, “Not all pirates are bad just like how not all Navy can be good. You can never judge a book by its cover. Not every prisoner is guilty and not all good politicians always tell the truth.”

“Why me? You know that I also kill pirates and…” Your voice faded into nothingness at the realization, “Both sides are following the rules and principles they’re assigned to, both have the right to that.” This calmed you down somehow, yet still doesn't answer your question, “If what you’re saying is right then why kidnapped me?”

“Your eyes..” San started as he placed the bowl on the small table, “Your eyes were pleading for a deliverance and I thought it would be fun to give you what you wanted just to see your reactions. Thought I’d have some fun as well. Now would you be a good girl and behave?”

The way he called you that nickname made something in your stomach turn, bringing hot shivers down your spine, “Stop calling me that.”

He only smirked, “Why? Aren't you a good girl?”

This caused you to become red as you turned your head away cursing under your breath, why was he having such an effect on you?

Turning your face towards his, he could only smile, “No need to hide your desires darling, you’re adorable like that you know…” His fingers slowly removed the blanket off your body, slowly revealing your body to the dark look into his eyes as you suddenly felt so small onto his gaze, “so vulnerable and all red as such. Finally, getting rid of your commander's side? Is this whom you truly are darling?”

Placing a gentle kiss onto your bare shoulder as you gasped out with a whimper, it felt sinful yet the sensation of his mouth brought a sensation of freedom, one you couldn't explain, “Let me take care of you. Allow me to free you from your chains? You do allow me that, right darling?”

With a frail nod on your side, a demonic smile crossed his lips, “Good girl.” 

San dropped the blanket onto the floor as he untied your hands, releasing yourself all naked to him. Getting behind you, he kissed your neck as you gasped out a curse, “That’s how I enjoy yourself, there’s nothing wrong in being vulnerable darling, I will make you feel good.”

His hand caught onto your breast as you finally moaned out his name, “San…ahh…Mmhhh please.” This make him to smile as he groped your breast hard, “Oh…fuck…” 

You breathed out and whimpered out his name like a chant more than his fingers pressed your nipple hard, the pain mixed with pleasure was euphoric. He palmed and groped your chest hard, he wasn't being gentle at all and you wanted it like that, enjoying how he pinched and twisted your nipples hard drawing out hard moans and whining from your lips.

“Fuck you’re so hot like that.” His teeth closed on your neck as he bestowed sucks and bites onto your bared skin as his hands still worked hard onto palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, “No one will ever please you like that. How do you want me to take you? Hard or gentle?”

“Please…” You didn't want to succumb to the temptation of admitting the truth, yet he could see through you. He ravaged your mouth with a hard kiss as you responded back with much harshness, you wanted it hard and you’d give it to him just as hard. 

A whine rushed past your lips as you felt his fingers caressing your bare inner thighs as your back pressed more against him, No warning was needed as two of his fingers pressed deep inside your warmth as you cursed out while San’s lips rubbed on your neck, “Be a good girl for your captain now.”

“Yes captain.” This was enough for San. 

Grabbing you carefully by your throat, he pressed you down on the bed, your ass now raised up for his hungry eyes as he licked a stride only your slick as you shivered out with more curses out your lips. 

The pirate landed a harsh slap on your ass as you moaned out, “Fuck…god…feels so good.”

San chuckled darkly at this sight in front of him as he delivered a harsh yet stinging smack to your butt before he dragged his thumb through your wetness, watching your warmth to quiver under his sinful touches that caused you to breath harshly as you gulped, eyes closed lost in the feeling. 

“So wet for me?” He smiled, "I’ve barely done a thing to you and you’re all wet. Look like you’ve never been touched like that before. Let me get back to it.” He landed yet another harsh slap to your butt. You groaned and arched your back, the shocks of pain were getting morphed into an intoxicating pleasure that coursed through your veins.

San laughed before he dropped and licked another strip up your core. You gasped at the feeling of his hot and wet tongue on you as he eagerly pressed yourself closer to him as you begged for more. The man couldn't help but to oblige, his tongue returned to your mound and moved expertly in ways he knew that would make you lose control. 

He fucked you with his tongue, occasionally he went down to suckle softly on your clit, slightly grazing you with his teeth.

The man positioned himself directly behind you. Two fingers prodded at your opening, slowly slid into you. You gasped as he began to scissor his fingers in you, no doubt preparing you to take his dick.

Removing his fingers from you.

You felt something hard and big teasing around your entrance.

San then slammed into you all at once, his thick cock stretched you out deliciously. You moaned obscenely, fisting the sheets beneath you. The man gave you no time to adjust as he pounded into you ruthlessly while delivering slaps to your butt when he saw fit, “Just like that, fuck you’re…taking me in so well, just like that.”

“So greedy, huh? I didn't know a commander of the navy could be that needy for the cock of the foul pirate that they hate.” San panted out.

The man sank his fingers into your hips as he fervently fuck into you, his grip will definitely leave you with bruises tomorrow but you couldn't care less.

When San started to thrust into you even harder, you lost all strength. Your hand fell from around his neck, and your other hand which you used for support just collapsed. The side of your face pressed into the mattress as the pirate fuck you brutally. The sound of skin being slapped on skin resounded off the walls of the quarter as San continued to roughly fuck into you.

San grunted and increased the speed of his hips, he dropped his hand from your chest to have it return to your clit. He circled the bud deliciously, he bucked his hips wildly against you. San tightened his grip on your neck and pressed small kisses to your jawline before coming up to your ear. 

“Come for me, Princess,”

With a loud growl, San gave one last thrust deep into your core, and he groaned sinfully as he emptied himself into you.

Your body crumbled down on the bed as you gasped out, hiding your face into the sheet as you heard the pirate panting just as heavy as yours. Soon your breathing even out. The pirate dragged you closer into his warmth as you snuggled in, “Thank you, would you mind if I stay with you, captain?” 

“Who knew all needed to make you stay is a good fuck?” San teased as he turned you around and pecked on your forehead, “I would love for you to stay, I told you I would give you a taste of freedom, no worries and no stress so stay with me.”

“I will take care of a few things back, then I will come back, I’ve got nothing holding me back anymore. I’m ready for this adventure with you, Captain.”

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (the final choice)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This is the final part of this story. Just embrace the chaos.

Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: rook's rest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The courtyard of the Red Keep was quiet, save for the distant hum of activity near the training yard. You had just finished spending time with Aegon in his chambers—an exhausting visit, but one you knew was necessary. His strength was slowly returning, but the scars of Rook’s Rest, both physical and emotional, still lingered on him like a second skin.

You’d barely stepped into the fresh air when you noticed Aemond standing near a large clearing, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun. And looming beside him, unmistakable in her sheer size and ancient majesty, was Vhagar.

Your heart sank.

Aemond’s stance was stiff, his single eye fixed on you with that familiar intensity. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat, but as if he needed something to anchor himself. As you approached, the massive dragon let out a low rumble, her great, scaly head turning ever so slightly to regard you, like a cat considering whether or not to bother with a mouse.

“Aemond,” you began cautiously, “what are you doing?”

He stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever storm was brewing inside him. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You and I. Together.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Leaving? To where?”

“Harrenhal,” Aemond replied without missing a beat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve taken control of the keep. It’s secure, far from the prying eyes of court. Far from… distractions.” The word hung in the air, thick with meaning. You didn’t have to guess what—or rather, who—those distractions were.

You crossed your arms, staring at him as though he’d just suggested flying to the moon. “You want me to leave Aegon and our children and just… run off with you to Harrenhal?”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “Aegon is a shadow of the man he once was,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of something softer behind his words. “He can’t offer you anything anymore. But I can. I’ve done everything for you, Y/N—everything. We can be free of this place, free of him.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You think I can just abandon my family? Aegon might be… changed, but he’s still my husband. And our children—what of them?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, clearly frustrated that you weren’t seeing things his way. “They’ll be safe here. You and I, we belong together. You know that.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your temper in check. It wasn’t that Aemond’s offer wasn’t tempting on some level—there was a part of you that did feel drawn to him, that had felt the pull of something more between you. But this? This was madness.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, “I’m not leaving Aegon. And I’m certainly not leaving our children. You need to understand that.”

He frowned, his eye narrowing as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Why? What can Aegon give you now? I’m offering you everything. We can start over, away from this cursed place. You don’t have to play the dutiful wife anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to resist the urge to snap at him. “Aemond, I am Aegon’s wife. And those children you want me to leave behind? They’re mine. I’m not just going to run off into the sunset with you and pretend none of this exists.”

Aemond’s frustration was palpable now, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m offering you freedom. A life that isn’t weighed down by him.”

You glanced at Vhagar, who was watching the entire exchange with an almost bored expression, her massive eyes blinking slowly, as if she were above all this petty human drama. You turned back to Aemond, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp look.

“Aemond,” you said with a sigh, “I’m not getting on that dragon.”

He stared at you, incredulous. “You refuse?”

“I refuse,” you repeated firmly, your voice steady. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to—like making sure my children are taken care of.”

Aemond’s eye blazed with a mix of anger and desperation, but before he could say anything more, you turned toward Vhagar, who was still looming in the background, waiting for her rider’s command.

You waved a hand at the ancient dragon, much like one would shoo away a stray cat lounging on a cushion it had no business being on. “Shoo, Vhagar. Go on, off you go. Go take a nap or something.”

Vhagar let out a deep, rumbling huff, her massive head tilting slightly as she regarded you with something that almost resembled amusement. After a moment, the dragon shifted, her wings rustling as she slowly lumbered back a few paces, clearly in no hurry to follow your orders—but still, she moved.

Aemond stared at you, utterly speechless, as you casually waved off the largest, most powerful dragon in Westeros like it was a lazy cat that had overstayed its welcome.

“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Aemond, I love you, but I’m not abandoning my life. You’ll have to figure out another way to deal with your issues that doesn’t involve kidnapping me and flying off to Harrenhal.”

Aemond’s face remained unreadable for a moment, his eye searching yours for something—some sign that you might change your mind. But you didn’t budge.

Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But this isn’t over.”

You nodded, watching as he turned back to Vhagar, who seemed almost reluctant to leave the scene of such entertainment. Aemond mounted the great dragon, his jaw tight, but there was a flicker of something resigned in his gaze as he glanced back at you one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, before Vhagar took to the skies, her massive wings beating against the wind as she soared away from the Red Keep.

You stood there for a moment, watching him go, a mixture of relief and sadness settling over you. The temptation Aemond offered had been real, but so was your life here. You had made your choice.

With a sigh, you turned back toward the Keep, your mind already shifting to thoughts of Aegon and your children. The drama with Aemond would have to wait for another day.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a tense place, filled with an eerie quiet as the skies outside darkened. The heavy doors to the chamber had been bolted shut, as though they alone could keep the inevitable at bay. Aegon, though burned and scarred, sat upon the Iron Throne, his face pale but determined. The ordeal of simply climbing the steps to the throne had been an exhausting one, and though he was seated now, he leaned heavily against the jagged iron, every breath a visible effort.

You stood at his side, watching him with a mixture of concern and admiration. He was stubborn, that much was clear—too proud to abandon his throne even now, when defeat seemed to hang in the air like a storm waiting to break. Behind you, your children stood close, their young faces filled with confusion and fear. The Red Keep had always been a fortress, a place of safety, but now it felt like a trap.

Alicent stood just a few paces away, her face drawn tight with determination, though you could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. She hovered near Helaena, who sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap as she murmured something to herself, her eyes unfocused as they often were when things became too overwhelming.

The sound of Syrax and Caraxes had been heard earlier, their roars echoing through the city like the gods themselves had descended upon King's Landing. The sky had been filled with the telltale shadow of dragons, and now, the doors to the throne room felt more like a countdown than a barrier.

Alicent, her voice sharp and unyielding, broke the silence. “We cannot give up hope,” she insisted, though her tone wavered slightly. She looked at Aegon, then to you, as if trying to will you both to share her belief. “Aemond will return from Harrenhal. He will. We sent the raven just as the dragons were spotted on the horizon.”

You glanced at Aegon, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, there was an unspoken conversation between you—one built on shared glances over the years, one that said more than words ever could. The truth was as plain as day: Aemond was not coming in time. No raven, no dragon, no battle-hardened brother was going to sweep in and save the day.

Aegon’s lips curled slightly, his scarred face twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. He leaned toward you, his voice low. “She still believes, even now.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress the wry smile threatening to form. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “this has gone on long enough.”

Alicent’s head snapped toward you, her expression tight with disbelief. “What do you mean? This is our duty. We must hold this city. We cannot simply—”

“Alicent,” you interrupted softly but firmly, your gaze meeting hers. “It’s over. We’ve fought this fight for far too long, and look where it’s brought us.” You gestured to Aegon, sitting on the Iron Throne, barely able to keep himself upright, a shadow of the man he once was. “The children—our children—deserve better than this endless war.”

Alicent stared at you, her eyes wide with something like betrayal, but beneath that, you could see the cracks in her resolve. The truth had been gnawing at all of them, and now it was finally forcing its way to the surface.

Before she could respond, the heavy doors of the throne room creaked open. The sound echoed through the hall, sending a chill down your spine as you turned to face what was coming. The chamber seemed to hold its breath as a group of armored men entered, their steps measured and purposeful. And at the head of them, with her head held high and her eyes blazing with determination, was Rhaenyra Targaryen.

She looked every bit the queen she had always been meant to be, her black and red gown billowing behind her like the wings of a dragon. Beside her strode Daemon, his usual swagger ever-present, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Behind them, their men filled the room, a silent but unmistakable display of power.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick with tension, the kind that comes right before a storm breaks.

Aegon’s hand gripped the arm of the throne tightly, the sound of his breath ragged as he leaned forward slightly. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a rasp, “here we go.”

You stood by his side, your hand resting gently on his, as you both braced for whatever came next.

The silence hung like a blade in the air as Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto yours next. For a moment, everything seemed frozen, save for the flickering torches.

You took a deep breath, your hand slipping from Aegon’s as you stepped forward, toward Rhaenyra. Her guards bristled, their hands twitching toward their swords, but Rhaenyra held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks. Daemon, however, remained still, his sharp gaze never leaving you, though his lips curled into an amused smirk, as if the whole scene was nothing more than a game to him.

“Y/N,” Alicent’s voice rang out sharply from behind you, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “What are you doing? Come back. You can’t—”

But you didn’t stop. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze head-on, your heart pounding in your chest, but your voice steady. “I’m trying to end this madness, Alicent,” you said softly, but loud enough for the room to hear. “For all of us.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Alicent for a moment, then back to you, her brow arching slightly, though she didn’t move. Behind her, Daemon’s smirk grew wider, though he still didn’t relax, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword as if expecting things to turn violent at any moment.

“Brave,” Daemon drawled, his voice filled with amusement. “Approaching a dragon in its den.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living with one for years now, Daemon. You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve faced.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, as if she were suppressing a smile herself, but she stayed silent, waiting to see what you would say next.

You took a deep breath and stopped a few paces from her, your voice calm but firm. “This has gone on long enough, Rhaenyra. The war, the bloodshed, the endless fighting. There’s been enough loss. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, though her expression remained measured. “A deal?” she asked, her voice cool but curious. “And what, exactly, are you offering?”

You straightened, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on you—Aegon, Alicent, Helaena, Rhaenyra, and even Daemon, all waiting for your next move.

“I want to take Aegon, our children, and my family back to Casterly Rock,” you said evenly. “Let us go, and we’ll never trouble you again. Aegon will renounce his claim to the throne. We’ll stay out of the way, and you can rule in peace.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the room, though no one spoke. Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she were weighing the offer in her mind.

“And what guarantee do I have that your husband,” she gestured toward Aegon with a slight tilt of her head, “won’t attempt some foolish rebellion once he’s licked his wounds?”

You smiled, glancing back at Aegon, who was doing his best to sit up straight, though it was clear the effort was taking its toll. “I think,” you said wryly, “that Aegon has had enough of wars for a lifetime. Isn’t that right, love?”

Aegon managed a weak, sardonic grin from the Iron Throne. “Aye,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with bitter humor. “I think I’ve had my fill of conquest. The Iron Throne’s overrated anyway—too damned uncomfortable.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched again, though her gaze remained steady. Behind her, Daemon chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Aegon swears,” you continued, your tone firm, “on the lives of his children, that he will never challenge you again. We’ll live quietly in the West, away from court, away from politics. Let us go, and you’ll have one less enemy to deal with.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra said nothing. The room held its collective breath as she studied you, her eyes flicking to Aegon, then back to you. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before.

“You would leave the capital? Leave the realm behind?”

You nodded. “We would. For our children’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, just a fraction, and for the first time since she had entered the room, you saw something almost like understanding in her eyes. She, too, was a mother. She knew the weight of protecting her children.

But before she could respond, Alicent’s voice cut through the tension once more, her tone sharp and desperate. “You can’t—we can’t give up the throne so easily! Aegon is the rightful king. You have a duty—”

You turned to Alicent, your voice firm but gentle. “Alicent, it’s over. The Iron Throne has brought nothing but pain to this family. It’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as if she wanted to argue further, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew, deep down, that you were right. The fight was over, and all that was left was survival.

Rhaenyra shifted, her voice calm but firm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “You may leave. Take Aegon, take your children, and go to Casterly Rock. But know this—if any whisper of rebellion reaches my ears, if Aegon so much as thinks of challenging me again, I will burn Casterly Rock to the ground.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Agreed.”

Daemon, still leaning lazily against his sword, raised an eyebrow. “A generous offer, Rhaenyra,” he murmured, though there was still that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I wouldn’t mind a little rebellion. Keeps things interesting.”

Rhaenyra shot him a warning look, but there was a faint smile playing at her lips. “That won’t be necessary, Daemon.”

You exhaled, the weight of the moment crashing down on you as you realized that you had done it. You had secured safety for your family—for now, at least.

Rhaenyra turned toward the throne, her eyes flicking to Aegon once more, her voice quiet but resolute. “The Iron Throne is mine.”

Aegon, still slumped in the chair, managed a dry laugh. “It always was, Rhaenyra. Enjoy it. I’m off to more comfortable seats.”

With that, Rhaenyra signaled to her men, and the room began to empty, the weight of the war falling away as the path to peace finally opened.

And as you stood there, beside Aegon, with your family behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a small, bittersweet sense of relief. The fight was over. At least, for now.

Casterly Rock had never been this lively. The towering, ancient fortress perched above the waves of the Sunset Sea now echoed with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Since your family’s relocation from King’s Landing, Aegon had been enjoying himself far more than anyone expected. It was as though the Iron Throne and its sharp, uncomfortable spikes had sucked the joy out of him, and now, finally free, he was having the time of his life.

You stood on a wide balcony overlooking the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape, watching Aegon as he lounged on a luxurious settee, a goblet of wine in hand, looking far more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. The children played nearby, their laughter filling the air. Every so often, Aegon would turn to them with a lazy grin and shout something like, “Go on, you little lions! Show them how a real dragon roars!” before collapsing into a fit of chuckles.

Aegon had taken to life at Casterly Rock like a duck to water. His once pale, sickly complexion was now kissed by the sun, and his spirits were high. He reveled in the wealth, the ease, the freedom from responsibility. As for you, the newfound peace and tranquility of Casterly Rock were a blessing—no more politics, no more war. Just wine, family, and the occasional feast that Aegon insisted on hosting for any Lannister cousins who would visit.

The only downside? Alicent.

Despite all the opulence, all the relaxation, Alicent Hightower stood by the balcony, arms crossed, her face set in a permanent frown, as though every bit of merriment was a personal affront. She had insisted on coming to Casterly Rock with you, despite your gentle suggestion that she might want to stay in King’s Landing. Since arriving, she had maintained her usual demeanor—watchful, tense, and, most of all, annoyed by the sheer joy Aegon was taking in his new life.

You couldn’t help but watch her with a mixture of amusement and concern. For days now, she had been pacing, her disapproval palpable. Finally, you could no longer resist, and with a light laugh, you approached her.

“Lady Alicent,” you began sweetly, though there was a teasing edge to your voice, “you’ve been frowning since we arrived. We’re in one of the most beautiful places in Westeros, Aegon is practically glowing with health, and yet…” You gestured to her stiff posture and furrowed brow. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Alicent turned to you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I simply don’t see how you can all be so… carefree,” she muttered, her gaze drifting back toward Aegon, who had now joined the children in some impromptu game that involved a great deal of roaring and chasing. “The world is still full of dangers.”

You sighed, leaning against the stone balcony rail. “Alicent, we’ve left King’s Landing, we’ve left the politics behind. You can relax. You’re not responsible for every move made in the realm anymore. Why not just… go back to Oldtown? Spend time with your family there. You don’t have to stay here with us if it makes you uncomfortable.”

To your surprise, Alicent’s expression changed—not into the indignant scowl you expected, but into something far more vulnerable. Her brows knitted together, and she looked away from you, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it.

“I can’t,” she said softly.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Alicent let out a breath, her hands gripping the edge of the balcony as though she needed something to hold onto. “I’ve spent my whole life in the capital. I’ve always had responsibilities—whether it was to my father, to my children, or to the realm. But now…” She hesitated, the words seeming to stick in her throat. “Now that the war is over, now that Aegon has given up the throne… I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her admission was so unexpected that for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. Alicent Hightower, the woman who had spent her life controlling, organizing, and managing everything around her, was lost now that there was nothing left to manage. She had always been defined by her duty—first to Viserys, then to Aegon, and now… well, now, she wasn’t sure what her place was.

You softened, moving closer to her. “Alicent,” you said gently, “you don’t need to have a grand purpose anymore. You’ve done your part. You’ve raised your children, you’ve kept the realm together through chaos. You’ve earned the right to rest.”

Alicent shook her head, her lips pressing tighter together. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just… relax. I’ve never had that luxury.”

You studied her for a moment, trying to find the right words. “You’ve never had that luxury because you’ve never let yourself have it. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long, but look around.” You gestured toward Aegon, who had now flopped onto the ground, dramatically claiming defeat as your children pounced on him in victory. “He’s happy. The children are happy. The realm is moving forward without us. Maybe it’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and uncertainty, as though the very idea of letting go was as foreign to her as flying a dragon.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, “we’ve got all the wine in the world here at Casterly Rock. It’s a shame to waste it on just Aegon.”

Alicent let out a small, reluctant laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I suppose there’s no harm in enjoying a little peace,” she admitted, though there was still a hint of doubt in her voice.

You smiled warmly, placing a hand on her arm. “There’s no harm at all. In fact, I think it’s exactly what you need.”

For a moment, you thought you’d gotten through to her. But then, Aegon—who had clearly been eavesdropping—shouted from the other side of the courtyard, “Yes, Mother! Embrace the wine! It’s the only thing keeping me alive!”

You shot Aegon a mock glare, but he just grinned, hoisting a goblet in the air as the children cheered beside him.

Alicent sighed, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Perhaps I’ll take a glass,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked toward the open courtyard, leaving you smiling in her wake.

As you watched her go, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Casterly Rock had a way of working its charm on everyone—even the most stubborn of people.

The castle of Casterly Rock had settled into a comfortable routine. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows, and for once, all was peaceful—well, until the thunderous roar of Vhagar pierced the air, shaking the very stones of the ancient fortress.

The sound was enough to rattle even the sturdiest of Lannisters, and Sunfyre, who had been dozing lazily near the cliffs, let out a high-pitched screech that reverberated through the castle, startling everyone awake. Servants rushed to and fro, muttering curses under their breath about “all these damned dragons,” while Aegon groggily sat up from his luxurious bed, blinking in confusion.

“What in seven hells is that racket?” Aegon mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake.

You, already half-dressed, sighed as you glanced out the window to see the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar landing near the cliffs, her massive wings stirring up dust and sending anyone in the vicinity scrambling for cover. “Looks like your brother has come to visit,” you said dryly.

Aegon groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Of course, it’s Aemond. Couldn’t send a raven like a normal person, could he? No, he has to drop in with Vhagar and scare half the bloody castle.”

Just as you were pulling on your gown, the door to your chamber flew open, revealing a very irritated Lord Jason Lannister, his usually impeccable hair disheveled, his face flushed with annoyance. “What now?” Jason snapped, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a man who had been woken up one too many times by dragons lately. “First, Sunfyre’s been keeping half the keep awake with his screeching, and now Vhagar arrives like a bloody storm? How many dragons are you lot hiding in this castle?”

You smiled sweetly at Jason, though you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Come now, Uncle. Surely you, of all people, are used to hosting royal guests.”

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation. “Not this many. And certainly not ones that come with wingspans larger than my dining hall!”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice echoed through the halls. “Where is he?”

Aemond strode into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he entered, his eye cold and unreadable as always. He glanced at you briefly, his expression impassive, but there was an unmistakable heaviness in the air. You could feel his gaze linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention to Aegon, who was still sprawled out on the bed like he’d been woken from the dead.

“Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Aegon blinked up at him, his face scrunched in confusion. “Goodbye? What do you mean, goodbye? You’re not going anywhere.”

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—perhaps frustration, perhaps regret—but he kept his expression neutral. “I’m leaving for Pentos. It’s time.”

Aegon sat up slightly, still perplexed. “Pentos? What in the seven hells are you going to do in Pentos? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Aemond crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Because it’s not your decision to make, brother. My place is elsewhere now.”

Aegon scratched his head, clearly still half-asleep and utterly confused. “Didn’t we talk about this already? Why does everyone keep leaving for Pentos? Am I missing something?”

You placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. You’re not missing anything important. Aemond’s just… moving on to new things.” You gave Aemond a pointed look, silently communicating that whatever unresolved issues he had could stay unresolved.

Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered there—something ambiguous, something unspoken. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But now wasn’t the time for lingering glances and hidden meanings.

Aegon, oblivious as ever, looked between you and Aemond with a puzzled expression. “Moving on? To what? A vacation in Pentos?” He let out a snort of laughter. “I didn’t realize you were the relaxing type, brother.”

Aemond, unamused, simply inclined his head. “It’s not a vacation. But yes, you could say I’m… finding new opportunities.”

Aegon waved a hand lazily. “Whatever you say. Just don’t go burning any cities while you’re there.”

Aemond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead offering a final, silent nod. His gaze lingered on you once more—just a heartbeat longer—before he turned on his heel and left the room, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode out, leaving the tension in the air behind him.

As soon as Aemond was gone, Aegon let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “Pentos,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What is it with people and Pentos these days?”

You smiled at him, patting his cheek playfully. “Don’t worry about it, love. He’ll be fine, and so will we.”

Aegon blinked up at you, clearly still half-dazed. “But why did he look at you like that? Am I missing something?”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice dripping with affection as you reassured him. “You’re not missing anything, Aegon. You’re the most important person here. Let Aemond run off to Pentos. We have everything we need right here.” You smiled sweetly, love-bombing him with all the tenderness he adored.

Aegon beamed up at you, his confusion melting away as he basked in your affection. “You’re right,” he said, his voice warming. “We’re doing just fine, aren’t we?”

You nodded, giving him a look that was both teasing and sincere. “More than fine. We have the sun, the sea, our family, and all the wine you could ever want.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enamored as always, and leaned back into the cushions with a contented sigh. “Gods, you really do know how to make a man feel like a king, don’t you?”

You smirked, pouring him another goblet of wine. “It’s my specialty.”

As Aegon took the goblet and smiled up at you with that adoring, slightly dazed look in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Whatever had happened at Rook’s Rest, whatever tension still lingered between you and Aemond—it didn’t matter now. Aegon was happy, and for the first time in a long while, life at Casterly Rock was peaceful. Well, mostly peaceful—aside from the occasional dragon roaring at dawn, of course.

[callme-holly]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could please do the outsiders gang with a little Curtis sister!reader? Like readers a year younger than ponyboy? Also can it be hc’s please?

'𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫' [𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Ahhhhh, i literally love this concept so much. Hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 671 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none!!

The gang are so protective of you oh my god

You may only be a year younger than Pony but they will still bend over backwards to ensure that you are safe.

You are Darry’s whole world. He cares about you so much that it’s almost suffocating. If anything happens to you, you best believe he is sticking up for you in a heartbeat.

Sometimes it can get a little frustrating. The boys will baby you and you will have to stand your ground when they get a little too much.

You are never allowed to walk home alone, and I mean never. There will always be someone there to walk you to and from wherever it is you need to go. It’s dangerous out there and they will not risk you being jumped.

Speaking of which, if you did ever happen to get jumped, the gang is by your side in seconds. Dallas, Steve, and Darry will literally put someone in the hospital for you if need be.

You give the boys a run for their money. If they get put on “baby-sitting” duty you show them pretty quickly that you don’t need looking after.

Sodapop is your best friend and you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s that person you can go to when you’ve got a problem and actually feel comforted afterwards. He’ll take you to the DX with him and let you help out as well as letting you take whatever you want from the store. Steve doesn’t really like it (he’s jealous that you’re stealing away his best friend) but he warms up to you being around after a while.

Going to the movies with Ponyboy and hanging out in the lot with him and Johnny after!!

If you think Darry is hard on Pony, just wait until you get home a few minutes past curfew. He will go mental. Like I said, he cares a whole lot about you and isn’t gonna have your future wasted. Sure, he has near impossible expectations for you a lot of the time, but just talk to him and he’ll try to go easy.

The other kids at school hardly ever mess with you. They’ve seen how scary your brothers and the rest of the gang are and they really aren’t looking to be spending their days in hospital.

If you’re struggling in classes, Pony will drop everything to help you out. You will both sit and study until Darry is on your ass about getting to bed.

Sometimes the gang can be a little too protective. It’s suffocating having to have someone with you everywhere you go and while they mean well you have had multiple arguments with them about how you can take care of yourself.

Dallas has definitely taught you how to fight, much to Darry’s dismay. You need to be able to hold your own and Dallas is going to teach you everything he’s learnt during his time on the streets.

Two-bit is the go to “baby-sitter”. He’s more than happy to go anywhere you want and he actually lets you have some form of freedom. Maybe that’s because he himself has the mentality of a small child but regardless, if Darry wants someone to look after you, make sure you request Two-bit.

Johnny loves spending time with you. You’re calm and someone he can talk to when he needs to. When he stays over some nights, you will sit up with him and Pony and talk until the sun comes up.

At first, Steve didn’t like you. He genuinely believed you were going to steal Sodapop away from him and hated when you came along to the DX. He doesn’t care if you’re a year younger than Pony, you’re still a kid in his eyes, and he’ll treat you as such. After a while though, he starts to warm up to you, you’re his best friend’s little sibling after all.

Needless to say, the whole gang loves you and would do anything for you <333